


Hell is Simply a Matter of Perspective

by Aizenat



Series: The Faust City Chronicles [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Corporal Punishment, Cults, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Marriage, Mpreg, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Cults, all of the characters are now adults though, references to underage forced marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aizenat/pseuds/Aizenat
Summary: Life on a cult really isn't that bad: it's a matter of perspective really...
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Faust City Chronicles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552870
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	1. Never Mind

I knew, really, that I shouldn’t have asked. I could see the way Sam’s face tightened, his dark eyes distancing himself a bit. We were supposed to be celebrating. And I was ruining everything with a stupid, silly question.

“Never mind,” I said, moving to stand from the bed.

“Do we need to talk about this?” Sam asked, loosening his tie.

“No.” I walked over to him, my hands immediately replacing his to undo the tie’s knot.

“Kian,” Sam scolded, his voice sounding tired. “You _have_ to communicate.”

“It was a stupid question,” I said, shrugging before pulling the tie from his neck. I folded it, pulling away to put it in the drawer. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Sam grabbed my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. A warning. I settled, waiting.

“It was more of a request, wasn’t it?”

I shrugged again. Sam sighed, taking the tie from my hands and moving to put it away himself. I watched his back, trying to gauge from how straight he was holding himself how this conversation was going to go.

“Sit down.”

Without a sound, I moved to sit on our bed, keeping my eyes on the ground. It would be better to keep my gaze down. To show remorse.

“Noel’s turning three this year,” Sam said.

I nodded. Granted, his birthday was still months away, but I would never correct Sam like that. His point was still the same.

“I know you’ve been doing this for a long time,” Sam continued, walking over to the bed and sitting next to me. “And you’ve been so good about it. But every time I try to give you these breaks, I have to hear about it from the council.”

“I know,” I said, feeling my face heat up. Not with embarrassment. With something else. Something I didn’t want to admit.

“I hear it from your father.”

“ _I_ _know_.”

Sam didn’t respond right away. I hadn’t meant for my voice to sound quite that forceful. I was sure he was debating whether to address it.

“Kian,” Sam said, his voice patient. “I need you to talk to me. We can’t still be having this same problem. You’re not a child anym—”

“Then how long do I have to accept being punished for what I did when I _was_ a child?” I snapped, looking up at him.

Sam held my gaze, his eyes steady and firm. It wasn’t my tone of voice, nor what I said that he was angry about. Nor was it the question itself. It was the fact that I had just cut him off. I knew better than that. I knew Sam better than that. He was not my enemy.

I was not a child anymore.

Sam moved, grabbing my chin to hold it in place. I let out a breath, never quite able to prepare for this. Sam lifted his other hand, giving me a quick, though smarting, slap against my cheek. I flinched, closing my eyes and keeping them closed. Waiting.

But Sam only needed that one. So he let me go, and I felt him move to kiss my cheek. Then he moved to kiss lips briefly. When he finally pulled away, I opened my eyes. Sam didn’t have to do that often, but it was very calming when he did. It was easier to take him seriously when he did; easier to respect him as the authority in my life.

 _Let him lead_ , I tried to tell myself. _Let him lead_.

“You’re not a child anymore,” Sam restarted. “I know you know how to properly articulate yourself. So when I say you need to talk to me, then you need to talk.”

I nodded, waiting.

“Now talk to me, Kian.”

I nodded, taking a breath in and out.

“I love the children, and I love my family,” I started. The preface wouldn’t lower the blow of what I was about to say, but I knew I needed to say it anyway. “I know my children are not a punishment, but I’m just so _tired_ , Sam.”

Sam nodded. An acknowledgement. “Keep talking.”

“Dalton is old enough to look at girls, and Rose is old enough to have boys looking at her,” I continued. “And I’m pregnant _again_.”

“We had to start early,” Sam said.

Sugarcoating the reality of what that meant didn’t mean I would accept it.

“ _I_ had to start early,” I corrected. “And, I mean, I get it. I know I was _difficult_ in the beginning.”

“And I know that _they_ were difficult,” Sam said. “You were very young, and it was all sort of thrusted onto you very quickly. And you did such a good job adjusting. That’s why I try to give you the breaks. But, Kian, I can’t justify them to the council anymore. Your father has the same amount of children with Deb, and they haven’t even been going at it for ten years.”

“She has two sets of twins,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

“I know, but she’s been going nonstop. By their accounts, we should have more than ten kids right now. I’m sorry, Kian, but we can’t stop after this one.”

I nodded, feeling properly defeated. It was such a stupid question. Of course I wouldn’t be able to stop after this one. I had to keep going. Keep proving myself. Keep apologizing.

“C’mon, baby,” Sam said, rubbing my lower back. “Talk to me.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to keep talking.

“ _Kian_.” That was an order. Not a suggestion.

“I just—” I cut myself off, feeling like I was about to say something dangerous.

“Kian, please,” Sam said, his voice hard. “ _You are not a child_. I shouldn’t have to pry this out of you.”

“I’m trying to not be difficult,” I all but snapped. I paused, seeing the warning in Sam’s eyes. I took a calming breath before trying again. “I know why it’s like this. I know the Lord requires us to be fruitful. I know that as long as I am capable, I should be doing my part in that. I know all that, Sam. I do.

“But there are so many others here who are allowed longer breaks, or were allowed to stop. And I know I shouldn’t compare myself—my situation—to them. But if the council is demanding this from us, it makes me feel like I’m still being punished. And it’s been over fifteen years. Will I never be forgiven?”

Sam sighed, though I could tell from the calm look on his face that this was where he wanted this conversation to go. Because we don’t talk about it. _I_ don’t talk about it. It’s always been there, lingering like a foul odor between us. A major stain on what was an otherwise picture-perfect marriage.

He was twelve years older than me. I was fifteen when I married him.

“Forgiveness is not in our hands,” Sam said. “It’s in the Lord’s.”

“Does God not ask us to forgive as He does?” I challenged. I knew I was close to the line, but I had a right to ask my husband this. He was my spiritual leader: my personal guide. If he couldn’t answer this, then he wasn’t fit to be anyone’s husband. “Am I to believe that He has not forgiven me? After all this time?”

“Is it our place to put a demand on when God must forgive us?”

He answered my questions with a question, and that actually pissed me off. Still, he wasn’t wrong. I had no proper response to that.

“No,” I said, answering his question.

“Have you forgotten your place?” Sam demanded.

“No. Of course not.”

“And what is your place?”

“Beneath my husband,” I said, the words feeling like chalk in my throat. “To be guided and led in the Lord’s ways.”

“And yet you question Him?”

“No! I’m sorry.”

“This is the exact type of shit that got you in trouble to begin with!”

I felt my body go cold. I turned away from Sam, my eyes on the ground. He was right. This was all my fault. Just because I was a stupid child who thought I knew everything about the world. My older brothers got to live free from it all: to pretend their views were right. And I was left behind, burdened with the reality that we were all so stupid and wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, my voice small. “I’m sorry.”

I heard Sam sigh, and felt his hand return to my back.

“Keep in the way of the Lord, and you will be forgiven. This is not punishment. You are doing as He commands of you. You are showing Him that you trust in His path for you. That you will submit to and obey His laws. This isn’t about self-flagellation: it’s about showing the Lord that you want to live in His ways.”

I nodded. There was a silent wall between us, and I knew Sam could feel it. He sighed, rubbing circles on my back.

“You understand that,” he said, talking himself through it. “But something about it is still upsetting you.”

“You forgive me,” I said, shrugging. “God forgives me. But the council has not.”

“The council are all very impressed with your transformation, Kian.”

“Not my father.”

Sam hesitated at that. I loved Sam; I really did. It took a long time to get there, but there was only love between us. And if I had to pick one thing that I loved most about him, something that would keep me loyal to him and only him for the rest of my life, it was the fact that I knew, without a doubt, that he would never lie to me.

“Your father has always been difficult to please,” Sam finally answered.

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Kian.”

“He hates me the same way he hates my brothers.”

“That’s not true, baby. You know that.”

“He hasn’t said a word to me since we got married,” I pressed. “And we’ve never been within two feet of each other since my mom died…”

My voice trailed off then, realizing what this was really about. No one treated me with disdain over what had happened; for most of the other wives, it was a funny, albeit slightly tragic story of teenagers who thought they understood the world better than the adults around them. Just about everyone was still waiting for my father’s prodigal sons to return, and for my father to welcome them back with a party. Even my younger brother, who had nothing to do with what we did, dedicated his life to spreading the word of God in the City to prove himself the golden child who never strayed.

And I was the one left behind, the black smudge on my father’s perfect canvas.

But even then, it wasn’t just resentment over that. It was silly to still want to punish me for what I did as a stupid teenager. And even my father would know that. So that meant it wasn’t about me and my past mistakes.

It was about her.

“Kian,” Sam said, bringing me from my thoughts. “Your father—”

Sam’s words cut off, and I looked up at him, wondering what happened. But he was shocked as he looked down at me, his eyes wide. It was almost comical. He moved then, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket. He lifted it to my cheek, wiping. It was only then that I realized I was crying.

And that shocked _me_. In over fifteen years, I’d never once cried. Not a single tear. Not at my wedding. Not when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Not at my mother’s funeral. Not when I miscarried some years ago. Never.

And now here I was, tears pouring down my cheeks like I was a child.

“Kian,” Sam said, looking concerned. “Baby, you need to tell me what this is about.”

He was scared. Because I’ve never cried before. I thought about Rose when she was younger. Right before her own periods started, she used to cry over everything. Every time her brothers wouldn’t play with her, every time one of the other wives admonished her, every time her younger sisters touched her things without permission, she cried. Full blown tears and everything. It was so often that no adult in the house had sympathy for them: we all knew it was her attempt to get people to do what she wanted out of pity.

If Rose had learned to save her tears, then they would cause true concern.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling baffled by this. I took his handkerchief, trying to wipe them away. But they just kept coming. “I’ve never cried over my mother like this before.”

“Is it your mother that you’re crying about?”

I blinked, my vision blurry. That was a good question. And when I thought about it, it wasn’t. A few sobs escaped, shaking me down into my core. I tried to get a grasp on them, but it was so pointless. I had never felt so helpless like this: crying and completely unable to stop it.

“I just…” I shook my head. “I just hate that he won’t talk to me. I miss her so much and all of my brothers are gone. He’s the only thing connected to her that is still here, and he doesn’t even want to be near me.”

I really started crying them, doubling over as I bawled into my hands. Sam was right there, rubbing my back. Just there. There like my own father refused to be. Didn’t want to be.

“He replaced us,” I cried after a while, the words tumbling out no matter how much I tried to keep it in. “He married Debbie and created a new family with her. We’re all a disappointment to him. We’re the family he wants to forget he ever had. We’re nothing but failures to him. A failed wife who died too early, failed sons who had to be excommunicated, a failed, disobedient surrogate child, and a younger son who had to become a missionary to make up for the failings of his failed family.”

“Kian.”

“He’s all I have left of her, and he _hates_ me.”

“Kian.”

I shot up straight, understanding dawning me. This wasn’t about God’s forgiveness. God had long forgiven me for straying. The Willows had long forgiven me for my sins. The only person’s forgiveness that I still hadn’t succeeded in winning was his.

“What do I have to do for him to forgive me?” I asked Sam, turning back to him. His eyes were so gentle, so patient. Waiting. “What more do I have to do? What does he need from me? Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” 

“Kian—”

“Do I need to submit to a flooding? Some form of public humiliation? Do I have to let him beat me at the center?”

“Kian, you need to sto—”

“How many more babies until it’s enough? How many more grandchildren do I have to give him before he’ll even look at them?”

“Baby, it’s—”

“What does he need me to submit myself to before he’ll talk to me again?”

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed my arm, roughly yanking me into a tight hug. Now I was really shocked: just as I didn’t cry, Sam never hugged me. Not like this. Not so lovingly. Not so firm. The message was clear: he would hold me together while I fell apart. He would keep me in one piece.

I had hated Sam when I first married him. I hated him because I never chose him. After my brothers failed to spirit me off the compound, after we were caught and beaten and our punishments declared for the entire congregation to witness, my father declared I needed to be married. No waiting, no proper courting from the boys my age. He wanted me married and doing my duty as soon as possible.

Sam was one of many to step forward. He wasn’t my father’s first pick, but he was my mother’s. I wasn’t sure why she would agree to this; even help choose who it would be. But my father agreed to let it be Sam. And I hated Sam for it.

Not long before her death, I asked my mother why she chose him. And she said because he wasn’t a pervert like the other men who jumped at the chance of marrying a fifteen-year-old. That he was a man raised in the congregation, like my father. And, most importantly, that he was not my father. In all the ways I was too young to appreciate.

It would be years after her death that I would understand what she meant. When I broke down after having three children back-to-back, begging for a break, Sam allowed it: a full eighteen months where I didn’t have to try. He even let me go three of those months without having to spread my legs for him. I learned how to enjoy my children during that time.

And I learned just how Sam was not like my father: Sam actually listened. He was patient where my father reacted rashly. He paused where my father would barrel forward, crashing into everything in his path. He was firm where my father was just cruel.

He was a man worthy of following: not a narcissist with an ego problem, but a good man who wanted to help guide those around him to the become the best versions of themselves. He helped me learn how to be a better wife, a better parent, and a better Christian. I never would have thought myself rising to those expectations back when I was a teenager. Now, I was that sort of wife easily.

Sam led me there. It was why I loved him so fiercely. Why I trusted him so completely. And I trusted him to hold me while I cried, letting out fifteen years of disappointed and heartache over the family I lost. My father, my mother, and all of my brothers. As a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to be free of them. Now, I mourned them.

“God’s love for us is absolute,” Sam murmured to me once my sobs calmed a bit. “It is everyone else’s love we often question.”

“Is he afraid of me relapsing?” I asked, letting Sam still hold me. I wasn’t quite yet ready for him to let me go. “Is that why he keeps his distance? I behave when I only have you to answer to or something?”

“I used to get upset, you know,” Sam said, and I knew this wasn’t going to be a direct answer to my question. “When you wouldn’t talk to me. I used to think it was because you were still keeping secrets. I would get so angry. Then I would remember all that happened, and think maybe it was an attempt to protect yourself. I would try to create this sad narrative that I could use to stay sympathetic. And open.

“Then, I realized that you were always quiet. You think a lot, but you don’t speak. So, I started asking questions. The right questions. And then you started talking.” 

I lifted my head up, looking at Sam. He was looking out the window, watching the setting sun. We were late to dinner, but neither of us cared. We needed this moment. Just for us.

“So am I asking the wrong questions?” I asked, though I was really thinking out loud.

Sam chuckled. “It’s not the type of questions that was important; it was me realizing and accepting your nature. I know it’s easier for you to stay quiet; I know your father spent your entire life telling you that you should be quiet. But being quiet won’t help you communicate. That’s why I had to start giving you little rules to get you to speak more. If wives and husbands cannot communicate, we cannot trust. Without trust, there is no faith. And without faith—”

“There is nothing,” I finished.

Sam kissed the top of my forehead, and I was glad I wasn’t going to get in trouble for interrupting him. But I understood what he was getting at. I wasn’t going to have a relationship with my father. Not the way I wanted. He wasn’t going to hold me when I cried, and gently talk to me when I got upset. He never gave me those things growing up, and so it was silly to expect them now.

And it didn’t matter if my father wouldn’t baby me: I was not a child anymore. I had a perfectly good husband to give me everything my father refused me. And more.

“Do you believe me when I say I love you?” I asked Sam.

Sam seemed taken by surprise by that question, but he smiled. “You freaked out the first time you said it. So yes. If it were a lie, you wouldn’t have been so upset over admitting it.”

I nodded. “Good. Because I do love you.”

“I love you too, Kian.”


	2. Believer

I turned on the water in the shower, blood lingering on the handle. I yanked my hand back, looking at the blood. My blood. Coming out of me. I couldn’t hide this. I shouldn’t want to hide this. This was a good thing. I should be happy.

But I didn’t feel happy. I felt lost. I felt confused. I felt stupid. I felt silly. I felt like an idiot. I rinsed my hands out in the sink, the water in the tub still running. There were paper towels under the sink, so I grabbed a few and tried to clean it up a bit: all but stabbing a handful of them between my legs.

Was there always this much blood?

It’d been such a long time since I last got my period that I wasn’t sure. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want this. I wanted it to stop. Fuck. I didn’t want this. I thought I did, but I didn’t. What was I going to do?

“Shiloh?” Josh’s voice said as I threw the paper towels out. I managed to stand just as he stood up. “Why is there so much water running?”

I felt like a deer caught in headlights. Josh was looking at me, expecting an answer. But I didn’t have one. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing intelligible came out.

“Uh…”

“I don’t have time for this today, Shiloh,” Josh said, moving to the shower. I watched in horror as he reached for the handle to turn the water off. “You know today is an important…”

His voice trailed off, and I knew it was because he saw the blood. He quickly turned to me, his eyes scanning my naked body, looking for a wound.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, his eyes focusing on my wrists.

“No,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say. I turned my wrists so he could see I wasn’t lying. “I…”

I wasn’t sure what I was about to say, but I didn’t want to say it. There was a pause, Josh seeming to dissect how I was bleeding despite not being cut anywhere. He moved, straightening his back the way he did when he was about to give me an order.

“Show me.”

I looked away. I didn’t want to show him. I didn’t want any of this. But it was my own fault. All of this was my fault. I didn’t have any right to complain.

So I nodded, reaching down between my legs and touching myself. Just enough to coat my fingertips in my blood. When I lifted it, the red visible on the insides of my fingers, Josh let out a heavy breath.

“Go shower,” he said, moving to turn. “I’ll bring your clothes.”

I nodded, turning off the water at the sink before moving to the shower. I wanted to sit there for a while, think about this. I wanted to mull over my options.

No, I wasn’t a kid at the Center anymore: I was an adult. A wife. I had obligations to my husband. To the Willows. To the Nation. I didn’t have options. My period had returned. My next step was glaringly obvious.

My honeymoon was over.

“Shiloh?” Josh said, entering again. “What is taking so long?”

I jumped, just now realizing I’d been zoned out under the cool water. I jumped into action, feeling my face heat up from embarrassment.

“There’s just a lot of blood,” I lied. “I wanted to be thorough.”

“Hmm. Well hurry up and get dressed. I grabbed a leftover napkin from Aaron, but you need to stop by the birthing center for more today.”

“Okay,” I said, quickly washing.

By the time I rinsed off, Josh was gone. I tried to collect myself while I got dressed. I couldn’t let Josh see how freaked out I was. I didn’t even understand why I was reacting like this. This was the goal. It was why I had to have all those weigh-ins, why Josh made a rule that I have to attend all meals.

My heart skipped, as I remembered the change in my medication. I always gained weight whenever my medication changed. Was that why Josh changed it last month? I tried to think, going over my weigh-ins. Usually, I’m met with tight frowns over barely hitting my weight goals. They’d gotten more aggressive over the last few months. Though since a few weeks ago, the medic taking my weight would give a satisfied nod when writing down my weight. How much had I gained?

“Why are you standing there?”

I jumped, surprised to see Josh watching me from the door. I turned towards him, all words failing me. He raised an eyebrow at me, leaning against the door frame.

“You’re upset,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” I said immediately. It was a lie, and I had to force myself not to wince at it. “I just didn’t expect it is all. And I don’t feel crampy or anything. I remember getting bad ones before.”

“You know better than to lie to me, Shiloh,” Josh said, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him.

I was suddenly aware of how small our bathroom was.

“I’m—” I started to lie again. Lie about lying. The irony. “It just happened quicker than I expected is all.”

“How long did you think you could drag it out? We’ve been at this for four years, Shiloh.”

“I know,” I said, looking away and shrugging. 

Josh was quiet for a moment while I refused to look at him. I wasn’t sure if he was debating something or waiting. If it was the latter, I didn’t know what he wanted from me. I’d been doing my best all this time.

“How long did you _want_ to drag this out?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to.” I said, tugging on the end of my shirt. “I wasn’t trying to.”

Josh let out a heavy sigh. I could hear the disappointment in it.

“I was your counselor at the Center, Shiloh,” he reminded me. “This started then. Little acts of rebellion, not eating to keep your body fat low: you really think you were hiding all that from me?”

I didn’t have a response. I didn’t want to think about the Center. I hated it there. I hated all the rules, all the lessons, all the ways they tried to beat my purpose into me. All the ways they told me I was disgusting. An abomination. Worthy only of being a broodmare.

“The Nation hates surrogates,” Josh said when I never responded. “It sees you as an abomination against God’s will. But we both know that’s not true. Right, love?”

I nodded.

“God would never create something He didn’t love. He gave you this divine purpose for a reason. Did He not?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is the problem? Are you afraid of fulfilling His purpose for you?”

I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut. 

“Shiloh, He would not ask this of you if He didn’t think you capable of it.”

“It was one thing when I was just supposed to have babies,” I snapped, finally looking up at Josh. His face was so calm. “I’m going to be a horrible mother.”

Josh blinked, once, at that.

“Why do you think that?” He sounded genuinely confused. “You’re great with June and Mica’s children.”

“Because they’re not _mine_.” I couldn’t stop the words once I started speaking. “They don’t call me ‘Mom,’ they don’t run to me when they get hurt—not unless their actual mothers aren’t there—and they’re not _mine_. God called me to _have_ babies; not raise them.”

Josh’s face hardened at that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. A warning. “I wasn’t aware you knew better than me what God calls you to do.”

Shit.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, quickly, moving to sit down on the toilet seat. I wasn’t going to drop on my knees in the bathroom, but this was the next best thing. “I’m sorry, Josh. Please, that’s not what I meant.”

Josh let me stew in silence for a moment, letting my anxiety build. I closed my eyes, trying to remember myself. My place. I had no right to question Josh’s authority. What was wrong with me? A little blood and I forget all I’d learned over the last four years?

“The Lord calls on me to lead you in His ways. That’s how this works, right, Shiloh?”

I didn’t hesitate in my response.

“Yes.”

“The Lord called me to bring you here, did He not, Shiloh?”

“Yes, Josh.”

“And only here, Shiloh, could you be a mother. Anywhere else, you’re a glorified baby-making machine. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“So is it not logical to say the Lord has called on you to be a mother?”

I opened my eyes. That actually made sense. I had trusted Josh so completely all those years ago, when he said the Nation’s ways weren’t what God wanted from me. He saw something in me that no one else at the Center had seen. Something that compelled him to give up his career, and risk everything to bring me to the Willows.

Why would we be here if God didn’t want it?

“Yes,” I said, meeting Josh’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Josh closed the distance between us, kneeling in front of me and lifting a hand to stroke the side of my face.

“I wish you’d trust me more,” Josh said, his voice almost sad.

“I do!” I exclaimed. Did he really believe that? That I didn’t trust him? “I trust you with my life!”

“Then why do you not believe me when I tell you that you will be an amazing mother?”

I hesitated.

“Because I mess everything else up,” I admitted. “Mrs. Lynn barely tolerates me in the kitchen, and no one here likes me.”

“No one impresses Mrs. Lynn,” Josh said, rolling his eyes. He stood, grabbing my hands and making me stand with him. “And even if we pretended that last part was true, should you be concerned what other flawed humans think of you, or God?”

That was an easy choice. “God.”

“Do people in the Willows know what you’re capable of more than God?” he asked, leading me back to our room.

“No.”

“Exactly. All that other stuff isn’t as important as this, right here.” He placed a hand on my stomach. “You are a good wife, Shiloh. You will be a good mother as well.”

And when Josh kissed me, to emphasize his point, I believed him. I believed God wanted this from me: that God believed in me. I believed that everything would work out: that once I got pregnant and started having children, everyone would see just how capable I was. In Josh’s arms, I felt divine; filled with holy purpose.

Only Josh could make me believe God wanted anything important from me. Only he could make me believe my life was worth anything. Only he could make my anxieties of the future disappear. Only he could make me believe any pain was worth his vision for us: husband and wife with our gaggle of children.

How could I not love the man who taught me to believe in something wondrously greater than myself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my other story, Josh is portrayed so menacingly. It makes sense why, but I wanted to show why Shiloh loves him so much. Josh can be nice when he wants to be. He's strict with Shiloh, but he knows when to lay down some honey. 
> 
> Shiloh is not the idiot everyone thinks he is. Even if he doesn't think highly of himself, he's very aware of how other people see him. 
> 
> How old is Josh? He's probably about 30. 31? He actually grew up in the Willows, and was working off the compound as a counselor. His goal was to try to learn some tips from the outside world and bring in some effective takes to his community. But, ironically, his work with Shiloh only disillusioned him. When he compared how surrogates were treated in the Nation versus how he grew up seeing them treated in the Willows, he decided that the Nation was fucked and to change his profession. Exactly what he does now, well, I'll leave that to be revealed in The Devil Wears White. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! Please leave comments letting me know what you think! Did you like seeing Shiloh's perspective?


	3. Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob dealing with the aftermath of his actions.

I sat at the table, watching the men build the new church. It was a lot bigger than the old one, and they were still working on the skeleton. I had nothing else to do, so watching them gave me something to focus on other than my stinging back.

Two girls heading towards the kitchen walked by me, glancing at me on their way. One of them frowned, her nostrils flaring a bit before looking away with a small huff. I’d been getting that all day.

It was silly: everyone was mad at me for running away. I never wanted to be here. Why were they surprised? And why were they mad at me for it? It was all so stupid.

“Hey.”

I didn’t look as up Serenity sat next to me. She was partly to blame for all of this. If she had been willing to leave with me, I wouldn’t have had to rely on Kris and Benny. Those two idiots were the reason we got caught. They were slow. They were scared. If we had just jumped when I wanted to, we never would have gotten caught at that roadblock. They—

“How are you feeling?” Serenity asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

“How do you think?” I all but snapped.

Serenity didn’t respond. I saw Declan come into view, pointing at something to the guy next to him. The guy yelled out, and someone returned it. They laughed. Declan was in his element: ordering people around. So happy and filled with life while I was suffering.

“Jacob,” Serenity said, again getting between my stewing. “I know you have every right to be angry at me—”

“For what?” I interrupted. “For leaving me hanging?”

“No, f-for last night.”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten that.

“You want to apologize for holding me down while he beat me,” I finished.

Serenity flinched. I wasn’t making this easier for her. But I didn’t care. I didn’t want this to be easy for her. Especially not when this, all of this, was so _fucking_ hard for me.

“I didn’t want to do that,” she finally say. She sounded so weak.

Weak and stupid.

“Yet you did,” I said, shrugging.

“Jacob—”

“I don’t care about whatever this is, Serenity,” I did snap then. I turned to her. “I’m the one who had to sit there and let him beat me. I don’t care that you feel bad about it. I don’t care how helpless you felt to fight it. You’re both the same: you’re both content to be pretty little lapdogs to a bunch of rapists. I’m not fucking barking.”

“Serenity.”

We both snapped our heads up. I felt my heart drop: Declan was standing there in his work pants, boots, and shirt. He had a towel in his hand, wiping dirt and grim off them. I wasn’t sure how much of what I said he heard, but he had a dangerous look on his face. His dark eyes were on me as he spoke.

“Serenity,” he repeated. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“No,” Serenity mumbled. She glanced at me. “But I can find one.”

Declan watched me as she got up, heading towards the house. Obedient little puppy.

“She’s such a good girl,” Declan mused, still looking at me. “You shouldn’t use such foul language around good girls like her.”

I swallowed. So he heard that last part at least.

“Stand up,” Declan ordered. “Turn around and put your hands on the bench.”

I blinked at him before looking around. It was late-morning: there were a few people meandering about. Not far from me was a trio of older women playing cards. One of them was very obviously watching Declan and me from the corner of her eyes. Last night’s beating had been terrible enough, but he wanted me to let him beat me in public?

“I can stand here all day, Jacob,” Declan warned.

I knew this was going to end in his favor either way. Nothing I did was really going to stop that. Still, it didn’t mean I had to submit to it. I didn’t _want_ to submit to it.

“There are people around,” I told him, as if he couldn’t see them himself.

“You are not the first, nor will you be the last wife to receive a correction at this table.”

I still didn’t move.

“You may be the first,” Declan continued, his voice casual, “to make his husband have to drag you from the table. _If_ you keep refusing to obey me. Please don’t make me do that, Jacob. You _are_ pregnant after all.”

I stood up, feeling sick. I thought of the morning the day before: how Declan woke me up, again, with a dick in my pussy, his thrusts frantic. Instead of leaving me alone while he showered, however, he forced me into the bathroom. He’d noticed I’d gone a while without asking for sanitary napkins. I couldn’t say no to the three pregnancy tests he wanted me to take.

They all came back positive.

By the time I was leaning against the bench, Declan had removed his belt. He adjusted me a bit, so that my ass stuck out as an easy target. I closed my eyes, bracing against the hard whacks. At least he was avoiding my sore back. I counted one. Two. Three. Then he told me I could stand up properly.

It hadn’t hurt too bad, and three swats weren’t the worst he could have done. But it was the humiliation of it all that made me stare at the ground as I straightened up. It was bad enough I could hear the women playing cards praise Declan for taking me in hand.

“You’re spending devotionals at home,” he said to me, nodding towards the house. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I started to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. I froze, waiting.

“What do you say when I give you an order, Jacob?”

I had never wanted to kill someone as badly as I wanted to kill Declan.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

He let go, and I quickly made my way back home. I told myself not to cry, again and again. It was so hard not to these days. Between the pregnancy hormones and the fact that I was trapped in a cult and forced to marry the man who rapes me every day, I had a lot on my shoulders. I rushed up the stairs, pausing at the landing when something grabbed my attention.

Andres and Evan had the room at the end on the east side of the house. I saw movement, and turned to see Andres on the bed, bent over on his knees. His chest was down against a pillow, his face turned towards the door while Evan was behind him, gripping his hips and fucking him from behind.

They were both loud, moaning and grunting unabashedly. Andres looked so comfortable under Evan like that, so content as he pushed his hips back to meet Evan’s thrusts. His eyes were closed. He had to be enjoying it: there was no way he was faking that, right?

I looked at Evan, just as he looked over and saw me. I felt my face heat up having been caught watching them. Evan waved his hand, the door closing with a loud slam. I snapped out of my stupor, heading to my own room.

No, not _my_ room. Just the room I was forced to share with Declan.

I shut the door behind me, moving to sit on the bed. I hated how Andres walked around the compound without a care in the world. I hated how all of this was so easy for him. And why wouldn’t it be? He was married to the Willows’ golden child. The little I could gleam, the general consensus was that Declan was an ass. He was a great carpenter and worker, however. His saving grace. 

Evan didn’t seem to be hurting Andres. He didn’t seem to be overly rough. Andres was more experienced than I was too. I knew all the nonsense he and Serenity had gotten up to during the convention. I knew he’d spent our last night at the convention at the pool with a guy.

Would this have all been easier if I had experience before Declan? I shook my head, mad I was even considering that. It wasn’t my fault this was all so hard. I grew up in Faust City: I grew up free. I spent my days trying to figure out how to crack genetic codes; my dissertation was on a new possible gene therapy for cancer treatments that _I_ had discovered!

It wasn’t my fault I didn’t want this life. I wasn’t like Serenity. I wasn’t like Andres. I couldn’t play cute when I still had my entire life to live. None of this was fair! I refused to accept this.

I heard the door click open, and I stood up. It was easier, I had learned, to be standing whenever Declan entered a room. He was fast, and I needed leverage if I was every going to win against him. As always, he smiled as he entered, taking in my firm stance.

He liked it when I fought.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, unbuttoning his own shirt. He was still holding his belt.

I never told him no. I learned that lesson the first, and second, times he raped me. Instead, I let my stillness be my answer. He rolled his eyes as he tossed his shirt on the ground.

“You have two options,” he told me, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked intimidating when he did that; that was why he was doing it. “You can either take your clothes off yourself, as gingerly as you need to, considering. Or I can go over there, and rip your clothes, and probably your bandages, off. I don’t mind redoing them afterwards.”

I tried to keep my face a glare; better a scowl than showing how terrifying a threat that was. I moved and took off my clothes, laying them on the bed. My torso and back were wrapped with tape, holding my bandages together. Declan had had to redo them earlier that morning. He’d been surprisingly gentle.

Not that I was stupid enough to fall for it. It was abusive manipulation 101. Be nice to the victim afterwards so that they longed for that sweetness. Bend and submit for another taste of it. Traumatic bonding.

It took my mother a long time to escape that cycle. I wouldn’t make the same mistake by falling for that trap.

“See?” Declan said, taking a step closer. “You do know how to be a good boy. Kneel.”

I hesitated. Kneeling was never good. Declan typically either beat me when I was on my knees, or forced me to suck his dick. Hoping for the latter, I did as he said. I felt tired on the ground, more so then I had been just moments ago. This was all getting too familiar.

“Much better,” he mused, stepping forward. “Take my dick out and get it hard for me.”

I reached up, undoing his pants, pulling them and his underwear down all at once, helping him step out of them. I hated touching his dick. He was already half hard, which made it a bit easier. I had no idea what I was doing a month ago. Declan was very patient regarding this, though. He really wanted me to learn just how to touch him, just how much to grip him while I jerked him to fullness.

“See how easy this is when you just obey?” Declan hummed, his hand coming down to stroke my cheek.

I didn’t respond. My back was still singing. I just didn’t want him to hit me again.

“Open up.”

I let go, swallowing a sob. I hated him so much. I hated this so much. Wasn’t fucking me enough? Why did I have to do this?

I opened my mouth, waiting for him to finally slide his dick inside. I still struggled taking him in, making sure my teeth didn’t scrape against him. Declan really didn’t like it when I did that. Declan put a hand on the back of my head, pushing further until he hit my throat. Right before I started to gag, he pulled back before pushing deeper again.

Declan set the rhythm, gagging me a bit before pulling back. I closed my eyes, hoping he didn’t come down my throat. I hated that. Though it turned out I didn’t have to worry about it: he suddenly pulled out, tapping his leaking dick against my lips.

“Look at me, Jacob,” he ordered.

I did. He smiled down at me, his hand moving back to my cheek.

“We’re going to play a little game,” he said, letting go and walking away. He found his belt and picked it up. “I think it’ll help with your obedience issue. I’m going to give you an order, and you’re going to obey. Any time you don’t, I will hit you with this belt. Across your back. Understand?”

I frowned, giving a small nod. I soon felt the leather of the belt pressed gently against my back. A warning. I froze, knowing he was serious. This was insane. Declan was insane.

“You will answer me verbally, Jacob,” Declan warned. “Every time.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice small.

“Good boy. Stand up.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood.

“Go on the bed. Sit on your knees.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hated every second I obeyed him. My entire body was screaming, telling me to stop listening. That it didn’t matter how much he hurt me: it was better than this.

But the truth was I’d been doing this for well over a month now. I was tired. He was hurting me every day. At what point could I finally go a day without him hurting me?

“Such a submissive little thing,” Declan said, grabbing my chin. “Such a good little puppy. Isn’t this nice? Just doing what I say?”

“Yes, sir,” I lied through my teeth.

“You should smile then if this is so nice. Go ahead and smile for me, puppy.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, giving him what I knew was a tight smile.

“How sweet.” He paused to give me a kiss before letting me go and straightening up. “Look at me.”

“Yes, sir.” I looked up.

“Bark.”

I blinked at him, confused by the order. He raised an eyebrow at my hesitation.

“I’m sorry?” I asked. Maybe I had misheard him.

“I said to bark.”

“Like a dog?”

“Yes. Like the cute, little, disobedient _cur_ that you are.”

Why? What did he get out of that? Was it some weird fetish?

Before I had time to fully contemplate all of that, Declan moved. Quickly. He lifted his arm, before swinging the belt down across my back. My body seized as my back was lit up with pain. I cried out, leaning forward until my head was against the bed. I was shaking, and everything else fell away.

I felt the bed dip next to me, and Declan’s hand was around my throat an instant later. He chocked me as he lifted me so that I was sitting up. Only then did he let go as I coughed.

“Did you think your punishment for running was over?” Declan asked me, his voice low in my ear. “Did you think I was going to beat you that once and you would be able to act like the same little brat again? Did you think I would tolerate that?”

I rubbed my neck, feeling bruises trying to form. Was that what all of this was? More punishment?

“I asked you a question,” Declan warned, pressing against a welt on my back.

“No, sir!” I coughed out, trying to twist away. “Please! I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry because I’m hurting you. You’re sorry because you got caught. You’re sorry because you were brought back here. You’re sorry you _failed_. Why were you being rude to Ren?”

I shook my head. There was no answer to that. Not a good one, anyway.

Declan sighed, standing again. It took me a second to realize why he would do that; when the belt slapped against my back again, I saw white. I started to move away, but Declan caught my arm. He swung again, the belt stopping my breath for a second.

“Please!” I begged him, trying to pull away. “Please, stop! I’m sorry!”

“Why are you fighting me?” Declan said, swinging again. “Stop fighting me!”

I froze, my back ablaze. He wanted me to stop fighting. And here I had assumed he got off on it. Declan kept his hold, sitting back down. I didn’t try to pull away this time. I just waited.

“I knew from the start you’d be a difficult bride,” Declan said, catching his breath. “But I didn’t think you’d be this fucking stupid.”

I smarted at that. I turned a glare to him.

“ _I’m not stupid_.”

Declan smirked. “Aww, did that make you mad? You _are_ stupid. Because only an idiot would try running. What was your game plan? Did you think no one would notice you were missing? Or did you think you’d be long gone by then?”

I shrugged. Declan finally let go of me, leaning back on the bed. He looked up at the ceiling. For a moment, he just looked tired. Exhausted. If I cared, I would have felt bad for him.

“Stupid little idiot,” he sang before looking at me. “You wouldn’t have made it back to Faust City. There are lots of checkpoints to get there on the regular. You would have had to move on foot to be smuggled in. And by then, the authorities would have been notified. You would have been caught somehow.”

“Even if the police found me—”

“They would have brought you back _here_. You are my wife by law. The Nation values the service surrogates provide. The Nation—the Willows is your home now.”

I sniffed, rubbing my eyes. Why the fuck was I crying? Because everything had been for nothing? Because I knew Declan was right: that there was no escape? Because I really was an idiot?

I remembered what Andres said to me in the car what felt like a lifetime ago. After we watched these monsters kill Gus and Bev.

_You are too smart to be this stupid._

None of this was fair. I had a future. Goals. Plans. Dreams. Things I wanted to do. I had wanted my first time to be with someone I loved. I had wanted children only after winning a Nobel prize, with someone I adored. I wanted to change the world.

I didn’t want to be stuck in some cult. I didn’t want to be pregnant at eighteen. I didn’t want to submit to Declan. I didn’t want to have his babies.

But I wasn’t getting anywhere fighting him. I was tired of fighting him. He was tired of trying to beat me into submission. We were both just so tired. One of us had to give. And it didn’t take a genius to know it wasn’t going to be Declan.

“I’m sorry,” I said, fresh sobs break through my chest. “I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry. I’ll be good from now on. I won’t run again. I promise.”

Declan smiled, leaning down and kissing me on my cheek.

“Bark.”

I closed my eyes, regretting my words to Serenity earlier. But that was the point. I had been rude to her. And that line was silly. Of course I’d end up barking.

“Ruff,” I said, quietly.

Declan smiled and kissed me again.

“Again,” he ordered.

I barked, a bit more confident now. It was embarrassing. It was mortifying. But that was the point. This was my life now. This was the lesson he had to teach me.

Declan pulled me in my lap, kissing me again and again. After each kiss, he’d tell me to bark. And I would. It got easier the more I did it. I assumed all of it would once I stopped fighting. After every bark, he’d reward me with another kiss. And I’d wait for the command again like a happy, little puppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I uploaded this! But then someone asked something and I thought "but that was in the side story," and then looked and saw I hadn't! Sorry! 
> 
> But it's here now! The ending is fucked up, not going to lie. But this won't be Jacob's entire life, as we know. Just hang out a little longer, little guy!


End file.
